No Such Thing as Love
by Peter Pan the Facepaint
Summary: "What if there was no such thing as love?" One-shot. POV Sherlock. Slight JohnLock. sad sad (T because idk if the ending is ok for babies?)


What if there was no such thing as love? That's quite a funny question, really, though I never really was one for humor or comedy. Oh, there are many things that would have happened if there was no such thing as love. There are things I might not have done. There are things I might not have said. There are things I might not have wanted to say...

I always thought of love as just another thing that existed in the dictionary.  
love [luhv] (noun) 1. a profoundly tender, passionate affection for another person. 2. a feeling of warm personal attachment or deep affection, as for a parent, child, or friend. 3. sexual passion or desire. 4. a person toward whom love is felt; beloved person; sweetheart.

That is how I always saw love. One person would give another a peck on the cheek and that would be that. That was love. But I never knew what it was like to love... I didn't even really have that strong attachments my own family. I was alone. Or, rather, that is what she had told me. She told me I was sad, that woman. I had always thought that I could shut people out of what I didn't want them to know, but it was those three people that could see through my black coat, scarf, and calm and collected expressions. She could always see through it, comparing me to her family member. He could see through it, and that led him to knowing how to get me to jump.

_He_ could also see through it, and that is the reason why I hate myself. That man is the reason why I am in love. Oh god, am I in love. I would never consciously let him know that, though. I was so afraid of that army doctor that I had met deciding to leave me, cursing me to be alone in the flat once more. My army doctor. My friend. My John Watson. Ah, John was most definitely not normal. He could see through any wall I put up, and he was simply amazing. He knew me. He didn't know my backstory, or how I could come to deducted conclusions in a matter of seconds, but he knew me. He knew me more than anybody I had ever known. Every word he said had meaning. Every step he took had purpose. Everything he ever did for me was in his caring attitude that he carried. Within the very first days of our meeting, he had shot the cabby, possibly saving my life. I owed him that much. It was on a rooftop that I gave it back. He wanted me to live. He wanted people to know that I wasn't a fake. He really, truly cared, and that was a fact that I could die knowing. Of course, I didn't die. I'm still here. But after that, I cursed his caring. I cursed all the times he was kind to me. I cursed ever letting him join me as a flatmate and a friend.

Because of his kindness, he cared too much.

After I had jumped off of that roof, I kept a close eye on my Watson. Along with the rest of the world's reaction, I watched John's carefully. It killed me to see him. His limp was back and he used his cane again. He never wanted to eat, although Mrs. Hudson made sure he did. After he finally went back to the flat, he just sat on the couch and cried. He cried for hours, and it made my very being want to cry out and tell him that I was okay.

Days went by, and every day, he talked less.

And less.

And less.

Until finally, he had the desire to never talk again.

I had to stop him. I had to take the pills out of his hands. I had to, but he moved quickly. Every movement he makes has a purpose. And with his purpose, he swallowed them before I could yell. Of course, I did anyway, but he couldn't hear me. I was in the building across the street. I ran outside as fast as I could, crossed the busy road, and made my way into the flat as quickly as my legs would carry me. When I stormed in, he looked at me like I was a ghost, which made sense because he thought I was dead. I grabbed him by the shoulders and told him everything. I told him that I was still alive, how I had survived jumping off of the building, the reason why I did, the fact that I loved him...

And I kissed him.

And he kissed me back.

The broken record of my mind that played nothing but science and factual evidence and deductions skipped the line it was stuck on, and it played a symphony instead. My brain tried to absorb the new information it was receiving, but couldn't read the music. So it shut off. My body was running on nothing but pure bliss, and crushing sadness.

That woman was right. I was sad.

So now here I am again on this rooftop. I owe my John again. He gave his life for me, and now I am ready to repay the debt. No tricks to survive this time.


End file.
